The One With The Chloroform
by randolhllee
Summary: It's not Ziva's favorite undercover operation ever, but Abby is trying to make it better. Really.


"What I would like to know is, why is _Tony_ not here?" Ziva spoke through gritted teeth glued into a smile as she scanned the brightly-lit, crowded dining room. The tight gold dress and the elaborate hair arrangement obstructing her peripheral vision were not doing anything for her temper, but other matters were not helping either.

An audible gulp sounded over the comms as McGee made his usual attempts at answering without inspiring the wrath or ridicule of his teammates.

"Well, he, uh, he and Gibbs already talked to a lot of the staff, so they know their faces, and since we think it's someone on the waitstaff who smuggles the women out of the hotel—" he trailed off awkwardly.

Ziva scoffed, although the polite smile on her face did not falter.

"And what about you, McGee?" Her eyes flared as a hand descended to refill her still-full wine glass, and she tilted her head to give a disapproving look to the owner.

"Well, the kid at table three just threw up, Ziva, so I really think you got the better end of the stick," McGee whispered bitterly. It was difficult to see if knocking Ziva's flatware off the table was accidental or purposeful, but he nevertheless carried on talking as he rushed to pick it up off the floor. "How's she doing?"

"I'm really not sure she's cut out for— oh, you're back!" Ziva gushed insincerely as the subject of their discussion bounced back to the table in a spangled black dress. As she had all evening, the tall woman drew several disapproving stares from more staid patrons of the famous restaurant.

Abby did not return the greeting, but sat down cautiously, looked to both sides, and then, while staring resolutely at her dinner plate, muttered out of the side of her mouth, "Hey, McGee! How's it going?"

"Abby!" Before McGee could even attempt a reply, Ziva swatted him harshly on the leg. He moved away swiftly, but not before surreptitiously signing 'OK' in Abby's direction.

That matter taken care of, Abby steamrolled right over Ziva's less-than-pleased demeanor.

"Have you seen the bathrooms yet? They're like, really nice. _Mega_ nice." Abby's eyes were always wide, but they became impossibly wider as she struggled to communicate exactly _how nice_ the bathrooms were.

Ziva was poised to speak, but Abby needed no more than a breath before she began again.

"I wonder how often they have to clean those. And you know, what about the mirrors? Mine are always streaky, even with the no-streak stuff. Is theirs better than mine? Or am I just really bad at cleaning mirrors? Windows, too, actually—"

Ziva cut her off with a sharp "Abby!" When Abby looked at her in shock, Ziva took advantage of her silence and pressed forward. "I need you to focus. Did anyone observe you very closely? Were you followed?"

Abby looked spooked by this reminder of their undercover mission.

"No. I mean, there was this one guy, but I think he was just your average creep, you know? Like there's your regular guy, like McGee or Tony," she explained, hovering her hand about an inch off the table, "then there's your average creep," as she moved it a little higher, "then there's George Ashby from high school," much higher now, "and then there's human-trafficking creeps." Her hand was now high above her head, a beacon calling every waiter in the room.

Ziva waved McGee off with a curt gesture and returned her attention to her 'date' for the evening.

"Abby. Did you see any means by which the traffickers could be applying the chloroform?" she demanded.

Abby looked at her with an amused expression.

"It could be _anything_, Ziva," Abby pronounced. "Pretty much any piece of cloth. Or I guess they could put the liquid in a cup and hold it up to their faces, but that seems like a _lot_ of trouble when you could just, you know, slosh some on a napkin and _voila_! Kidnapped!" Her naturally loud voice was starting to attract attention, as were the violent hand gestures that illustrated every sentence.

Ziva shut her eyes as if to magically remove herself from the situation by dint of not being able to see it any longer, but was forced to open them when Abby's voice once again cut through the haze of her calm.

"Where's Gibbs? I haven't heard him on this thing at all. Is his working? Gibbs?" The theatrical whisper Abby was now employing was not much improvement, but Ziva chose to appreciate the effort with a resigned shrug.

"Right here, Abbs."

That her boss had been listening to the whole exchange did not exactly comfort Ziva. Then she saw a group stand up to go. As they did, one woman said goodbye to all of her companions before saying, "I'm just going to use the restroom before going home. Don't wait for me." The waiter following closely behind the small blonde woman was the only confirmation needed.

"—and this fish isn't bad, but if they really wanted to bring out the flavor my Uncle Louis always said you had to use lemon—" Ziva filtered back into the conversation Abby was carrying on capacity for breath alone and cut her off.

"McGee, do you see that?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Ziva, is that—"

"Abby, _stay_."

Ziva rose and followed McGee, quickly but quietly, to the back hallway where the restrooms were. She pulled her back-up from its thigh holster and approached the restroom, giving a quick nod to McGee before opening the door.

And finding the waiter and the blonde woman making out.

Ziva shut the door immediately behind her and spoke into the earpiece.

"It was not the kidnappers. Why do people always hide in bathrooms to make out?" she asked with disgust as she and McGee walked casually back to their places in the dining room.

A new voice appeared just as she sat down.

"I have an interesting theory about that, actually—"

Before Ziva could even roll her eyes, Abby's delighted "Tony!" swiveled several eyes in their direction.

Ziva rubbed her temple. It was going to be a long evening.


End file.
